


All This Time

by CBFirestarter, TrenchcoatBaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Camping, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hiking, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Photographer Castiel (Supernatural), Physical Therapist Dean Winchester, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBFirestarter/pseuds/CBFirestarter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/pseuds/TrenchcoatBaby
Summary: When on-the-rise photographer Castiel Novak gets injured on assignment, the last person he expects to be his physical therapist is his high school crush, Dean Winchester. But as their friendship rekindles and the chemistry ignites, they find themselves alone on a mountaintop where anything could happen.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 139
Kudos: 580
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedragonfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonfae/gifts).



> Hello and welcome back! After a little summer hiatus, we're so glad to be back and writing together again. 
> 
> This fic is one of two lots we're writing for the Fic Facers 2020 auction. The winner of this lot, and inspiration behind this prompt, is our longtime reader and all-around amazing person, thedragonfae. 
> 
> We're nothing without our betas (though any remaining errors are always our own): WaywardJenn, EllenOfOz, MalMuses, and Lorelei2005. You're all incredibly smart and supportive—thank you! 
> 
> So, this is basically a two-part one shot (yeah, we're not sure that math adds up either, lol). Anyways, we'll be posting the second and final chapter as soon as we finish it! 
> 
> Enjoy the sweetness and fluff. <3
> 
> xoxo, 
> 
> TCBaby and CB

The office is surprisingly busy when Castiel hobbles in. He’s never been to a physical therapist’s office before, but as the receptionist guides him further into the back, he sees the space resembles a gym more than a medical office. 

He makes this observation aloud, and the receptionist says in a low voice, “Oh yes, honey. Expect for this to feel more like a workout than a checkup.”

She’s wearing scrubs, a pearly-white smile, and a name tag that says _Missouri._ Castiel nods in understanding and winces the more they walk, the aching pain in his knee starting to throb with the weight he’s putting on it. Finally, they enter a large room filled with exercise equipment. There are machines he expected—treadmills, stair steppers—but dozens of bands and bars he doesn’t even have a name for. 

“Take a seat right here, Mister Novak.” Missouri pats a flat, padded surface that looks more like a table than a bed. He shuffles over and hoists himself up with as much dignity as his injured knee will allow. He’s twenty-six years old, fit and muscled, and generally in great health. He’s not used to his body having limitations, which in hindsight, is maybe why he risked jumping off that boulder to begin with. Until grad school, he’s always lived in Kansas—and had no idea how dangerous the California wilderness could be. 

“Miss Milton is running behind schedule today. Would you mind seeing another physical therapist instead? There were a few cancellations, so I think we can squeeze you in easily enough.”

“That’s fine,” Castiel says, unconcerned as long as _someone_ can help him today. Missouri pats his shoulder in a companionable way, asks him a few simple questions that she types onto a small laptop, then she leaves him. Castiel exhales and looks up, suddenly in a thoughtful mood as he watches the ceiling fans spin. He has a million other things to do today—mostly reading assignments, but there’s also a handful of photos to edit. He’s in his final year of graduate school for photojournalism, and with graduation only three months away, he doesn’t have time to nurse a stupid injury. He lies down on the padded table and groans, covering his face with his hands, his to-do list streaming through his brain…

“Hey there,” comes a deep, friendly voice that sounds as familiar as it is welcoming. The newcomer is speaking quickly, obviously in a rush, as Castiel scrambles to greet him. “So, Missouri forwarded me your chart, but it isn’t done downloading. Thought I’d come introduce myself while we wait for our ancient technology to catch up.” There’s a slight chuckle, one meant to put someone at ease. “My name is—”

Castiel finally sits up, removing his hands, and looks at his therapist for the first time. Then, he makes a valiant effort to pick his jaw up off the floor. 

“Dean,” he breathes, unable to keep the pleasant shock out of his voice. The man in front of him, sporting a pair of form-fitting black scrubs that leave little to the imagination, is even more gorgeous than Castiel remembers.

“Cas?” Dean asks, his voice rising a little, his measured tone sounding more excited—more personable. “Man, it’s good to see you!”

Castiel smiles instantly, any thought of his to-do list evaporating into thin air, because this is _Dean Winchester._ Ten years ago, he was Lawrence High School’s number-one heartthrob, quarterback of the football team, and the biggest crush Castiel’s ever had. _Ever._ There had been times he had wondered if his feelings had been returned—moments at lunch where their shoulders would brush, and Dean’s eyes would gleam green underneath the fluorescent lighting, and Castiel would wonder why someone like Dean would hang out with Castiel to begin with. But Dean had never made a move, and Castiel was the quiet artistic kid who didn’t have many friends. It’s not like he could jeopardize his friendship with Dean, not when the likelihood of his feelings being returned by the biggest ladies’ man in Lawrence was slim to none. 

“It’s good to see you, too. It slipped my mind that you and Sam moved to California,” Castiel says earnestly. He can’t help noticing the light stubble on Dean’s cheeks, the neat flow of his hair, the compact bulge of his biceps. He’s just standing there looking like every one of Castiel’s teenage fantasies, and he can’t help but stare. “You look great.” 

The compliment stumbles out of his mouth, and even though Castiel has had a fairly active dating life in college, he resists the urge to awkwardly mutter out an apology. It’s fine, he tells himself, they’re not sixteen anymore. He’s no longer terrified of peeking his head out of the gay, midwestern closet. He’s been proudly out for several years now, though he has to admit, going out of state for college helped him attain that confidence. He found it was much easier to meet someone new and say _I’m gay,_ than it was to tell someone back home.

“Thanks,” Dean says softly, and Castiel is suddenly glad he hadn’t recanted his compliment, because Dean Winchester is looking down at his feet and blushing. _Blushing._ “What, uh…what’ve you been up to?”

“Not much,” Castiel answers, all of his accomplishments—past and present—emptying out of his head as Dean looks at him. _Somehow, he’s only gotten more handsome with time,_ Cas thinks, feeling his neck prickle with heat. 

“Oh, c’mon. That’s not what Charlie tells me,” Dean says, his gaze turning playful. 

“You keep in touch with Charlie?” Castiel asks, thinking of the nerdy redhead, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Though the three of them had been close in high school, Castiel was never good at keeping up with long-distance friends.

“Yep, she works with Sammy now. They both nerded out over your cover of—what was it, again? Those big rocks up in Grove County?”

Castiel has so many questions, he doesn’t know where to begin. He hasn’t thought of Charlie or Sam much over the past few years, but suddenly, he’s dying to reconnect with them again, to see what they’re up to. Dean, of course, he _has_ thought about since high school. Frequently, actually, usually alone in bed…

He clears his throat, pushing _those_ thoughts to the corner of his mind. 

“The Monument Rocks?” he offers, and Dean snaps his fingers. 

“That’s it. That picture was seriously cool. And it got published on _Kansas_ magazine, man. That’s awesome.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, not accustomed to this level of praise, ignoring the butterflies roaming around inside his stomach. “Thank you, Dean. I was surprised, considering I’m still in school, but one of my old UK professors knew the editors. It was dumb luck, I’m sure,” he says, feeling a little flustered.

Dean shakes his head and scoffs. “Doubt it, but nice to know the attention hasn’t gone to your head.” He gives Castiel a wide, cocky grin, and Cas rolls his eyes in response. Dean chuckles and sits on a nearby stool, retrieving the small laptop on the nearby counter and scrolling through Castiel’s paperwork. “So, uh, guess we oughta get down to brass tacks. Says here you had a hiking accident?”

Castiel nods dimly, recounting the abbreviated story of how he was shooting from the peak of a nearby canyon when he took a dangerous leap off a boulder, his knee bearing the brunt of the impact. Dean listens to the story with professional interest, though he shakes his head in disapproval when Castiel admits he often hikes alone.

“You carry a first-aid kit? On your shoots, I mean?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Um…” Castiel wets his lips, then smiles sheepishly. “I think there’s a…band-aid in my bag. Somewhere.”

Dean _tsks_ with disapproval, shaking his head from side to side. “Not good enough, man. You really gotta be more careful.”

After another shake of his head Dean is standing up, hovering over Castiel, and Cas eases back onto the table. Dean looks so beautiful from this angle—his angular jaw looking scruffy with five o’clock shadow, his eyelashes thick and black against his skin. Castiel breathes out and looks away, wishing he’d been better prepared today to reunite with his old high school crush. He might’ve worn nicer jeans, combed his hair a bit, or resisted that third cup of coffee earlier. 

“Alrighty, let’s check out this bad knee of yours,” Dean says, an easy, professional reassurance in his voice now. Castiel relaxes, an odd sense of trust coming over him. He hasn’t seen his old friend in years, but there’s still an innate sense of goodness in Dean Winchester. “Let’s start with a few stretches…” One of Dean’s hands hovers over Castiel’s knee, the other tucked under his calf. He begins to gently move and stretch the tendons and Castiel breathes steadily. “Yeah, just like that… Does that hurt?”

“A little,” Castiel admits.

Dean frowns slightly and keeps touching him, clinical and concentrated as he stretches Castiel’s leg. Even through the stinging throb of pain, Castiel can’t help but be distracted by how intimate this is, how aware he is of his body, the nerves in his stomach, the racing of his heart. Dean focusing all of his attention on Castiel sends a thrill up his spine. 

“The joint definitely has some stress on it. Probably some inflamed cartilage,” Dean mumbles, almost to himself. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Yes, on campus,” Castiel explains, breathing a bit labored now. “They told me to go to the ER and get an MRI, but…” He pauses, suddenly embarrassed to admit this to someone he knows—someone he’s hoping to impress. “I don’t have health insurance. This was the cheaper alternative.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean nods solemnly, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, what about this… I don’t think it’s anything too serious. I’ll teach you some exercises today. Pretty sure we even have a knee brace lying around here somewhere, so you can take that with you.”

Castiel nods gratefully with a sigh. “That sounds excellent, Dean, thank you.”

“S’no problem, Cas. Just doing my job.” Dean gives him a small, pleased smile. “You’ll need to be extra careful the next few months though, okay? No strenuous activity.”

Castiel’s mind fights the urge to picture a strenuous activity he’d _love_ to do with Dean right now, bad knee be damned. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “Well, next month I’m taking another hike—”

Dean shoots him a disapproving glare. “Dude, that’s exactly what you _can’t_ be doing right now!”

“But it’s for my final portfolio,” Castiel argues. 

“So, tell your professor about your injury,” Dean shoots back immediately, sounding less like a physical therapist and more like an upset friend. 

“He’ll make me retake the class, Dean, and that’s not an option.” Zachariah Alder is one of the most obnoxious, unforgiving professors Castiel has worked with during his entire academic career. No way he’s asking _that_ man for a favor or extension. “I just have to finish this, and then I can graduate.”

Dean crosses his arms against his chest. “I get that, but c’mon, this is about your health.”

“Yes, exactly, this is _my_ health.” Castiel crosses his arms too, looking resolute. In response Dean actually turns his head, and to Castiel’s immense surprise, laughs fully. Instantly, any tension evaporates from Castiel’s insides once he sees the pearly-white smile of Dean Winchester looking down at him. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks wearily. 

“Just…” Dean laughs again and then leans in closer, his voice an amused whisper, “I forgot how damn stubborn you are, that’s all.”

Castiel cracks a smile and looks up, catching a flash of fondness crossing Dean’s face. 

“Okay, well, if you’re not gonna cancel—”

“I won’t,” Castiel interjects steadily. 

“Well, then, we’re gonna have to see a lot more of each other. Appointments twice a week for a month.”

A rush of excitement runs through Castiel at the thought, but then he remembers the cost of a single appointment with Dean was already dipping into his meager savings. 

“That would be great, but…”

As if sensing his hesitation, Dean waves a hand casually. “I can treat you, uh, unofficially. If you want. You can just come over once I’m off work?”

Castiel swallows a dry lump in his throat. “Come to your…?”

“My place. If that’s not too weird,” Dean says in a rush. “It’s just, if you come into the office, the receptionists will bill you, y’know?”

“I can’t ask you to help me for free,” Castiel argues, though the thought of spending alone time with Dean _and_ getting his knee healed up without spending any money sounds like a best-case scenario to him. 

Dean shrugs. “It’s the friends and family discount, man. You remember Benny? On the football team with me?” Castiel nods slightly, remembering the hulking Louisanian linebacker from high school. “Well, last Christmas I fixed up his shoulder for a couple of six packs. No big deal, man. And…” He pauses intentionally, as if picking his words carefully. Dean’s voice is casual when he speaks again, almost too casual for the circumstances. “It’d be nice to see you again.”

Castiel’s pulse begins to race again. Is this his opportunity to _finally_ pursue something with Dean—one-time football god and Lawrence High heartbreaker? Surely the way his freckled cheeks are breaking into a blush, the way he’s looking nervously down at the linoleum, means something? 

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel says with a great inhale, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. “Let’s do it.”

Dean grins widely in response, and for a moment, it’s as if no time has passed—Castiel is just the school artfreak, unnoticed by almost everyone except for his best friend, his crush, the recipient of his unrequited love. 

_Dean Winchester._

***

Dean huffs out a deep, steadying breath as he runs his hands through his hair, checking his teeth in the hallway mirror. He hasn’t had a chance to change out of his black polo shirt and soft black scrubs before he hears a firm knock at the front door.

“Shit,” he huffs under his breath, taking one last look before going to answer the door.

He opens the door and takes in Castiel, standing on his front step looking just as gorgeous as he had a few days ago. He’s filled out since they were young kids back in high school. Broad shoulders and a dark stubble on his perfect jaw make Dean swallow hard. Cas still has the same gorgeous blue eyes and soft smile he remembers, though.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is a deep rumble and makes the hairs stand up on the back of Dean’s neck.

“Hey, Cas.” He grins back like an idiot, but he just can’t help it. What are the chances his teenage crush would walk into his office after all these years? Part of him still can’t believe Cas is really here.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Castiel’s grin turns to a smirk, and Dean realizes he’s just standing there staring at the guy. _Smooth, Dean_.

“Duh, come on in.” He gestures inside and Castiel shifts by him—a little stiff in his gait, making Dean frown. Cas is wearing comfortable clothes, just like he was instructed: soft basketball shorts and an old concert tee from a band Dean’s never heard of. 

“I like your house,” Castiel comments, immediately scanning the family pictures hung in the hallway.

“Thanks. I’ve only been here a year so far.” Dean had managed to buy it after he and Sam had sold the family house in Kansas and headed west.

Castiel smiles up at one of the older pictures of Dean and Sam together. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and has Sam in a headlock, grinning triumphantly at the camera. Castiel reaches out a hand like he’s about to touch the picture before flushing red, his hand retreating. “Does Sam still have all that hair?” Castiel asks, and Dean can’t stifle the laugh.

“Yeah man, never could get him to cut it a reasonable length.” Dean rolls his eyes, still chuckling fondly. “I keep this room for my equipment. It's not as much as the office has, of course, but we should be able to make do.” Dean gestures toward a side sun room and Castiel follows him, albeit slowly.

“Love the light in here.” Castiel nods approvingly, and somehow that makes Dean want to puff his chest out in pride. “Sorry, photographer,” he says with a shrug, “lighting is everything.” Castiel sends him a sheepish smile, and Dean shakes his head before he ends up staring again.

“The light makes this my favorite room, too.” He looks around the spare room. It's a mishmash of furniture, a treadmill, weight machine, an old padded medical table, and boxes of weights and elastic bands stacked in the corner by an exercise ball and yoga mats. The other side, however, has a loveseat and bookshelf right by the window. It’s one of his favorite spots to unwind after work.

“You have a lot of equipment here,” Castiel muses, walking around the room. Dean watches his gait, thinking it's time to start loosening that leg up.

“Yeah, I’ve been buying stuff over the past year, hoping I can open my own small practice at some point.” He moves over to the treadmill, gesturing for Castiel to get on. He looks wary, but does as Dean instructs. “Just want you to walk on this for five minutes, okay? We want to warm the muscles up before we try to stretch and strengthen them.”

Castiel nods, a look of deep concentration on his face now, hands white-knuckle tight on the treadmill grips. Dean thinks he’s kinda adorable like that—it's the same face he would make when they were kids and he was sketching in his notebook. Dean hits the “on” button and sets it for slow, steady walking pace. Castiel begins to move and immediately relaxes a bit.

“Told you just a walk…not gonna run you into the ground yet, promise.” Dean smiles at him and leans on the side of the treadmill, standing closer than is probably professional.

They chat about what they’ve been up to the past few years. Dean tells him about his accelerated courses he took to become a physical therapist in Lawrence while Sam finished high school. He tells him how he moved to California to follow Sam when he got into Stanford, realizing that saying it out loud makes him sound like he doesn’t have a life outside his brother. That isn’t true—Sam is just the only family he has, and he wanted a change of pace from Lawrence. Cas tells him how he spent time in Chicago for his undergrad before transferring out to California later. 

He gets so distracted talking to Cas that he doesn’t notice the time...Cas has been on the treadmill twelve minutes already. “That's good enough. Now I can show you some stretches.” He turns off the machine and waits as Castiel moves slowly toward his work table. Dean pats the top of it. “Up you go,” he says, and winks at Cas, who bites his lip a moment before hopping up to sit on the table. Dean guides him to lay back with his knees bent, and snags a pillow to put under his head. “Alright, I can show you a few stretches you can do in the morning and at night, okay?”

Dean keeps a neutral face as he cradles one hand on Castiel’s ankle and the other under his knee, guiding him in a stretch. If Dean didn’t know he was bi, he would think he was full on gay in this moment. He simply can’t imagine how he’d find a body sexier than this one. He stands a little closer to the table, hoping to hide his growing interest in said body. _Down, boy_.

Accepting his sexuality had been surprisingly easy once his dad passed and they moved from Lawrence. He’d known for a long time he liked both genders, but knowing that and being ready to say that out loud—to seek out men—was a whole different ball game. He had suspicions Castiel swung the same way, but he honestly never saw Castiel date anyone in high school. He was more of a loner in the art room than anything. How does one even ask a question like that?

“Ouch,” Castiel grunts, and Dean eases off the stretch a bit.

“Let me know if it hurts, okay? We want it to be a little uncomfortable, but never painful.” Dean sees Cas nod at him, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“Still can’t believe I did this to myself,” Castiel says grumpily. “So sick of walking around with this limp.” Castiel sighs as Dean moves to lift the opposite leg, getting a much easier stretch.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back charming ladies on the dance floor in no time.” Dean smiles at him before lowering his leg.

Castiel seems to hesitate, staring at the ceiling a moment and avoiding his eyes. “Even if I did partake in dancing, it wouldn’t be ladies I would charm.” Castiel’s answer is calm and confident, and if Dean’s hands weren’t on his leg and could feel the tension, he would almost buy the nonchalant facade.

Taking his own deep breath, he presses on. “Sorry for assuming, man. For what it’s worth, I’m bi, so no judgment here.” He can feel the tension seep out Castiel and see a shy smile pull up his lips. “And I suck at dancing.” This earns him a genuine smile.

“It’s alright. And I doubt you suck at anything,” Castiel adds. Dean bites his bottom lip to keep the dirty joke or flirtation from slipping out. The realization that Castiel is—yes, in fact—into men, does not mean it's appropriate for Dean to hit on the guy. 

“Really thought you’d take the bait on that one.” 

Dean looks down to see a wolfish grin on Castiel’s face.

“Asshole,” he chuckles, feeling some of his own tension ease. “Come on, next stretch…move your leg, crossed over here, and open up your hip.”

Dean’s hand moves to the inside of Castiel’s thighs— _holy shit_ are they firm—helping him open into the stretch. They finish the stretches with Dean showing Cas how to do them at home, and tells him they will start on weights to rebuild strength next week. He grabs an ice pack and insists Castiel ice the leg for at least ten minutes before leaving.

He wishes he could prolong his stay, but Castiel mentions so much work he needs to do and friends he’s meeting for dinner. Even so, he hesitates in the doorway, giving Dean a strange look before heading out to his car. Dean wonders how on Earth he is going to keep things professional now.

***

By the sixth visit, Dean is really starting to look forward to his sessions with Cas. He even has a mental countdown going in his head for how many days till he comes back again. The fact that Castiel’s leg is quickly improving and he won’t need Dean anymore makes his stomach twist.

“Please tell me that’s the last set?” Castiel pants as the weights clink down.

“For that side, yes…but come on, you don’t want one jacked leg and one flabby one.” Dean smirks and Castiel turns a red-cheeked, fiery gaze at him. That stare sends a chill down his spine and makes him want to beg prettily on his knees. And since when was he attracted to dominance?

“Do you work all your patients this hard?” Castiel grumbles as he moves to the other side to begin his leg lifts with the uninjured leg.

“Only the ones I really like.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and he can see a smile start to crack through Castiel’s scowl.

“Maybe I need to do something to annoy you, then, and make you not like me,” Castiel huffs out as he continues through his set.

“Good luck with that. You’re extra cute when you’re grumpy,” Dean chuckles.

“I am not cute.” Castiel’s scowl is fixed back on him again and Dean barely stifles the laugh.

“I tell you what—you finish this last set and get through one more round of leg curls and I’ll treat you to pizza.” Dean watches as Castiel hesitates a moment, mid-lift, and tilts his head. Dean’s eyes go wide as he realizes he may be crossing the line here, inviting Cas to stay for dinner.

Castiel seems to recover though, going back to his set with a slightly reduced scowl on his face. “I find that acceptable...if I can pick the toppings?”

Dean feels a wave of relief and doesn’t bother stopping his smile. “You got it. But I’m upping the weight on the last set.”

Castiel sighs but nods, and Dean counts out the set for him. When he’s finally done, Dean beams with pride. “No friend of mine would smile that much while I suffer,” Castiel grumbles, taking the offered towel to wipe his face.

“Aw, you calling me your friend, Castiel?” Dean gives him his best megawatt smile and Castiel’s frown cracks again. 

“I certainly hope we're friends...otherwise you're a terrible businessman, working for free,” Castiel adds.

Dean tries to ignore the butterflies at Castiel calling them _friends_. “Follow me,” Dean says instead, leading Cas to the living room couch and helping him get settled with his bum leg propped up on some pillows. “I’ll grab some ice and then we can order food.” 

He hurries to grab the ice and pull up the local pizza shop on his phone. He’s about to hand his phone over when he sees Castiel already placing an order on his own phone. “Hey, I said I was gonna buy you pizza.”

“Yes, but I refuse to allow you to help me heal and then also buy me food. It's my treat—it’s a thank you for the help.” Castiel shrugs like it's no big deal. 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean seats himself on the opposite end of the couch. “Oh, by the way, I had drinks with Sam and Charlie last night. They both said to tell you hello.”

Castiel’s smile brightens at that. “I’ve missed the two of them. Do you all still do game nights?”

“Oh, hell yeah. But we changed up from Monopoly to Acquire or Settlers, depending on Charlie's mood, mostly. You should come to the next game night.” He hopes he isn’t being too pushy with Cas, but he _did_ say they were friends.

“I’d like that.” Castiel’s cheeks color a bit as he looks down at his hands. “Do you still always lose though?” Cas quirks a brow, a challenging look on his face.

Dean puts on a mock scowl of his own now. “I do not _always_ lose… I just rarely win.”

Castiel laughs, a deep, rich belly laugh. It's one its one of the best sounds Dean has heard in a long time.

“Are you excited about your upcoming hike?” Dean asks, lifting the ice off Castiel’s leg to move it over a bit.

“I am. I have my route picked out and few areas I think will be good to set up camp. Most of it should be low elevation hiking, but the last day will be the hardest to reach the peak I have planned.”

Dean pulls up his phone, looking up the hiking route Castiel describes. “Man, that’s gonna be a tough climb, even if you were working at a hundred percent.” What if Cas gets hurt up on the trail? What if he’s all alone and no one finds him till it’s too late? It doesn’t even have to be that cold to get hypothermia from exposure.

“I like a challenge,” Castiel says with a shrug.

“You really shouldn’t be hiking up there alone.” Dean frowns at his phone, googling hiking accident statistics.

“I’ve done it before,” Cas explains with a sigh.

“And you’ve gotten hurt.” Dean gestures at Castiel’s leg. “Case in point.”

“Life is full of risk, Dean. I just find some chances worth taking.” Dean looks up at this to meet Castiel’s eyes. There's something soft and inviting behind the look, pleading almost. He just wishes he could tell what Cas was trying to say.

“Why don’t I go with you?” Dean blurts out.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Castiel rolls his eyes, but he hasn’t said no.

“Come on. I could use a long weekend from work anyway. It would be fun to get out into nature a bit. Plus, it has the added benefit of making sure you stay in one piece.” Dean is already doing a mental checklist of his camping supplies in the garage.

“You really wanna come?” Castiel sounds almost…hopeful?

“Hell yes, I do.” The doorbell rings announcing dinner, and he adds, “I got it!” He jumps up to get the food and is surprised to see two large pizzas, a two liter of orange soda, and chicken tenders with honey mustard sauce. “Dude, how many people did you think were eating with us?” he asks with a laugh.

Castiel just shrugs. “Leftovers never hurt.”

Dean opens the pizza box to see a well-done sausage and pepperoni. The second is a Hawaiian. He looks up at Cas, who is seriously blushing at this point. “You remembered my favorite pizza?”

“I remember a lot of things,” Castiel says, almost to himself. “Let's dig in?”

Dean nods and they both settle on the couch, turning on a _Rick and Morty_ marathon while they eat. They spend the rest of the night eating pizza and laughing at their favorite show. When Castiel finally goes to leave, it’s with a promise to let Dean come with him on the camping trip. A few nights out under the stars with his crush sounds fucking amazing.

***

“You’re _kidding_!” Charlie throws a piece of popcorn at Dean’s head, but he ducks at the last minute and smiles sheepishly at Castiel. “I fucking called it!” 

“Every…single…time,” Sam says with a dramatic sigh. 

“What just happened?” Castiel asks, staring down at the board game with a mixture of amusement and confusion. It’s his first time playing board games with Dean, Charlie, and Sam since high school, and this game—Betrayal at House on the Hill—has a set of unique rules he hasn’t quite grasped yet. 

“Looks like Dean’s the traitor,” Sam explains, bemused exasperation in his voice. 

“For, like, the tenth time in a row,” Charlie points out. 

Dean shoots up his hands, grinning. “Can’t help it. Even the game knows I’m a bad boy.” He gives Castiel an outlandish wink that should be absurd, but seeing as it’s _Dean Winchester_ , it makes him look amazing. Castiel grips his beer and takes a long swig, Charlie catching his eye and looking at him curiously. He blushes and looks down at the table, avoiding her penetrating gaze. He hasn’t seen her in years, and yet his old friend is just as perceptive as ever. 

“Yeah, yeah, flirt on your own time, traitor,” she remarks, and Dean’s smirk drops to a spluttering surprise. 

“I wasn’t…uh,” he grumbles, busying himself suddenly with reaching for the game instructions. “Which haunt are we doing, anyways?”

They spend the next few minutes listening to Sam read from the manual—Castiel’s questions interrupting every other sentence—before Dean pushes his chair back. 

“Well, later losers,” he jokes, heading toward the kitchen. 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Castiel asks, still not quite sure he grasps the rules of the game. 

“Yeah, gotta give you heroes time to strategize outta earshot, don’t I?” Dean opens the fridge and brings Castiel a fresh beer, dropping it in front of him and placing a hand absently on his shoulder. Castiel tries hard not to lean into the touch, but it’s a losing battle—after several weeks of physical therapy, he’s used to Dean’s hands touching him. Part of him wishes his injury could’ve lasted a little longer, so there would be an excuse for the touches to continue. 

“And Dean has to go upstairs and hatch his evil plan,” Sam says sarcastically. 

“Good luck with that. Get outta here, handmaiden!” Charlie calls. 

“Handmaiden?” Castiel asks. 

Dean just mutters “trust me, you don’t wanna know” and flushes pink, heading upstairs. 

Castiel feels a little lost being in Dean’s house without his friend seated beside him, but reminds himself that Sam and Charlie are his friends, too—even if it’s been a while since they’ve hung out. Besides, it’s certainly not friendship that keeps Castiel so transfixed on everything Dean says and does. In Dean’s presence he feels like a teenager again, crushing on someone who feels utterly unattainable.

When the door upstairs latches shut and Dean is out of earshot, Charlie squeals and throws her hands on Castiel’s forearms, slapping him playfully. 

“Okay, thank _god_.” She squeezes his arm in excitement. “I thought he’d never leave!”

Taken aback, Castiel looks at her blankly and takes a large swig of his fresh beer. 

“Now we can talk,” Charlie adds, eyebrows raised, as if Castiel is supposed to be picking up on some social cue. 

“Oh, of course.” He sets the beer back on the table, feeling uncertain. “So, the, um, haunt…? What’s our strategy?”

Sam chuckles as Charlie rolls her eyes, and Castiel looks between them in confusion. “Apologies, I’ve never played this game before.”

“Charlie doesn’t want to talk about the game,” Sam says, voice sounding light and buoyant. After a beat, he finally adds with a hopeful smile, “She wants to talk about you and Dean.”

Castiel swallows a dry lump in his throat. “Me and…?”

“Yeah, you and Dean. And your romantic, overnight hike this weekend!” Charlie grins victoriously, as if she’s played her cards at the perfect moment. “Now, the traitor upstairs has refused to give me any dirty details. But I know you won’t hold back on me, Cas.”

Castiel opens his mouth, to say _what_ he isn’t quite sure…but in the end, he just chuckles dryly. “You’re good. More persuasive than I remember, which is saying a lot.”

“Deflection…” Sam identifies, tipping his beer over with a grin. “You’ve officially been spending too much time with my brother.” 

“Good one!” Charlie exclaims, clinking her own glass bottle against Sam in agreement. 

“Look, there’s…nothing to tell,” Castiel says in a quiet voice. “Dean and I are just rekindling an old friendship. That’s all.”

Charlie snorts, leaning back in her chair. “You might be able to fool other people with that nonsense, Cas, but I was _there_. Remember? I saw you two spend our entire senior year in the cafeteria, pining after each other.”

Castiel is so taken off-guard that he just blinks, feeling significantly out of his depth. “No, there’s…there’s no way…”

“No way, what?” Charlie nudges his shoes under the table. “No way that Dean is crushing on you, too? ‘Cause I can settle that debate for you real quick. _He is_.”

The red flush spreading on Castiel’s cheeks has nothing to do with the temperature. “I sincerely doubt that.” But even as he dismisses Charlie’s hypothesis, he can’t help noticing his heart rate pick up, his palms begin to sweat at the thought of his feelings being returned after all these years. 

“Listen, I don’t like to get involved in my brother’s love life, ‘cause…gross.” Sam scrunches up his face, reminding Castiel of the awkward, gangly teenager he’d been all those years ago. It’s a fond memory, a reminder of their deep bonds, and he smiles softly. “But if you’re not interested in Dean, you should tell him. And soon, Cas. I’ve seen him go through enough bad relationships, and I just want him to be happy.”

Castiel straightens up in his chair, realizing their feelings for each other must be a real suspicion of Sam’s, for him to give Castiel the “talk.” He nods solemnly, taking in every word. It still feels slightly unreal, imagining a reality where him and Dean could end up together.

“What Sam said,” Charlie says, nudging Castiel’s elbows impishly. “Though I’ll add that, when you’re packing for the camping trip, don’t forget… The best sex is safe sex.”

“Charlie!” Castiel admonishes instantly, thinking his friend would probably appreciate his brother, Gabriel, and his perverse sense of humor. Meanwhile, Sam covers his ears and pretends not to be listening. 

When Dean returns downstairs a moment later, they’re all whispering about the game, strategizing the best way to win. Dean just stands at the threshold of the doorway, staring at Castiel with a warm smile on his face. Butterflies flutter around in Castiel’s stomach, and he smiles back widely, feeling truly hopeful for the first time in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! We hope you all enjoy the second and final part to this story. We certainly loved writing it. <3 
> 
> xoxo,  
> TCB & CB

The four-hour drive to Vernal Falls flies by with Dean in the driver’s seat. Castiel just settles in, fiddling with his camera equipment and double-checking his lenses. Occasionally they chat about Castiel’s classes, or the differences between living in Kansas versus California, but mostly they sit in comfortable silence, letting Dean’s classic rock cassettes fill the interior. Halfway there, when they stop in a quaint town for coffee and gas, Castiel tests his camera settings on Dean. Hand outstretched towards his Impala, the early morning light filters through his eyelashes, his freckles turning golden, his skin sunkissed. Castiel sneaks a few shots before Dean notices him, blushing and running an awkward hand over his face. 

“Since when is Lawrence High’s most popular student camera-shy?” Castiel jokes after Dean finishes pumping gas, waiving off Castiel’s insistence that he pay for the fuel. “Your face was on every other page of the yearbook.”

Dean snorts. “ _You_ should know, you took most of the pictures.” Hands on the wheel now, Dean’s next sentence is quieter, more grounded. “Besides, that was forever ago, man. Lotta things have changed.”

Castiel leans into his seat as Dean puts the car in reverse. Under the guise of grabbing the camera bag at his feet, he scoots in closer, their elbows almost touching. 

“True,” Castiel concedes, but then brushes Dean’s elbow and whispers softly, almost to himself, “And some things haven’t changed at all.”

Dean lets out a breathy intake of air, one that has Castiel shifting around in his seat. If Dean keeps making sounds like _that,_ the rest of the drive is going to feel very long. The tension between them mounts, and Castiel can’t decide if he wants to lean into it or steer the conversation to safer ground. The decision is made for him when Dean switches over the cassette, hand brushing Castiel’s knee absently, though Cas decides it’s too intentional to be an accident. He begins imagining all sorts of enticing images, then—Dean’s hand gripping his knee, his thigh, Castiel’s lips trailing the slope of Dean’s neck, his hand slipping into the waistband of Dean’s unbuttoned jeans. He’s never given road-head before, but he was on the receiving end once, and he imagines the experience would be even more satisfying with someone he cares about…someone he’s wanted for so long. He feels his cock stir beneath his zipper and clears his throat, placing his hands over his lap, hoping Dean doesn’t notice how affected he’s become. 

As filthy daydreams pass through his head, Castiel vaguely recognizes that all the songs sound immensely familiar. It isn’t until he finds himself humming along to a Zeppelin tune that it finally occurs to him—

“This is my mixtape,” he realizes, then corrects himself, fighting the urge to blush. “I mean, not _my_ mixtape. But the one you made me for me, right?”

Dean grins, as if Castiel has passed a test he didn’t know he was taking. “Wondered if you’d notice.” 

“Of course I would,” Castiel answers, smiling a little smugly now. “I listened to this nonstop the summer before college.”

Dean smiles back at him, practically beaming, and Castiel feels his heart begin to pound in his chest. He sips his coffee as Dean throws his arm behind the bench seat, nearly touching Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel tries—and fails—not to notice how closely they’re sitting, how easily it would be to touch skin to skin. 

“Why didn’t we keep in touch?” Dean asks a few moments later, and Castiel squints his eyes, looking up at him. “After high school, I mean.” He grips the steering wheel tightly now, some of his earlier levity gone. “We were best friends, man, and then…nothing.” 

Castiel can visibly see regret cross over Dean’s face, along with a slew of other emotions he can’t quite name. Castiel bites his lip and considers the question. In all honesty, he had been so hopelessly in love with Dean at the time, and had assumed it was desperately one-sided. Once he went to college and came out, he lost touch with most people from high school—especially his “straight” best friend he’d been pining over for years. He thought it had been self-preservation, but in reality, pushing Dean from his mind might’ve been the worst mistake of his life.

He can’t say all of that, though. Not yet, when things still feel so fragile—when Dean could still surprise him, could pull back and refuse to acknowledge the growing connection between them. So he takes a page out of Dean’s own book, and mumbles out a self-deprecating joke. 

“Maybe you were just tired of the artsy, gothic loser trailing behind you in the hallways,” he says, attempting to sound light and funny, but the delivery lands with an awkward pause. Dean can’t contain his incredulity, turning his body sideways, his arm coming in closer contact to Castiel’s shoulder. 

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean says, voice heavy with disbelief. “Is that what you think?”

Castiel shrugs offhandedly, feeling uncomfortable, and Dean’s eyes go wide. “You were loved by everyone, Dean, and I was loved by…” He swallows, not knowing how he intends to finish that sentence. “Well, I had Charlie and Sam, of course. I had some art class friends. I suppose there was that one girl, Meg, who used to bum cigarettes off the janitor—”

“You had _me_ ,” Dean interjects, his voice heated, a defensive tone coloring his words. 

“And you had the whole cheerleading squad,” Castiel points out. 

“You don’t think I wouldn’t choose you a million times over them?” Dean snaps. “Hell, over anyone?” 

Catiel’s face flames red, a mixture of flattery and irritation swirling inside him. The rest of the drive passes in heavy silence, both of them too lost in memories, in emotions from the past. 

***

Dean hoists his pack onto his shoulders and begins to fiddle with the straps. Sam had borrowed it recently, so nothing is the right length.

“Goddamn Sasquatch,” Dean mutters.

“Planning to look for Bigfoot on our hike?” Castiel asks from right behind Dean, making him jump a bit and spin around to face him.

“Uh, no, definitely don’t wanna find that sonuvabitch. Sam borrowed my pack, so all the straps are too long.” Dean shifts the pack till it's in the right spot on his back.

“Hold still. Let me help.” Castiel walks up to him and grabs the tails of the shoulder straps, giving them a small tug. He tries hard not to squirm, but Castiel’s knuckles brush along his ribs and he’s fairly ticklish. Castiel’s hands then float up by his collarbone to click the top straps into place. Dean can smell Castiel’s shampoo since he's standing so close, and he can’t help but dart glances at those plush, pink lips. Castiel hesitates only a second before reaching for the straps by his hips. Dean sucks in a breath as long, elegant fingers—that have played in many a wet dream of his—are only inches away from his very interested cock. Scrunching his eyes shut and willing his dick to stay at ease, he doesn't even notice when Castiel finishes till he hears a soft chuckle.

“You're all strapped down,” Castiel tells him, and he blinks his eyes open and tries to ignore the heat he feels rising in his cheeks.

“Just how I like it,” Dean jokes, and sees an answering flush on Castiel’s cheeks. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for flipping the tables and leads the way toward the trail head. They hike in relative silence, Castiel stopping to take pictures every so often, camera hung around his neck at the ready.

“You hungry?” Dean asks, reaching into his pack and pulling out a bag of peanut M&Ms.

“Candy? Really?” Castiel all but rolls his eyes at Dean.

“Don’t insult my camping food. This has all the energy you could need in a crunchy, chocolatey little package.” Dean opens the bag, tossing one into the air and catching it. He winks over at Castiel, who seems to be fighting hard not to smile.

“I will stick with my energy bar, thank you,” Cas replies, pulling some fruity power bar from his backpack.

“Those things taste like cement.” Dean crinkles his nose.

“They are actually quite good and filling,” Castiel responds, taking a bite of his bar and struggling to chew it.

Dean laughs lightly. “Better drink some water with that.”

Castiel scowls at him, but does pull out his water bottle. “I think we only have another hour or so before we will reach a good spot to set up camp for the night.”

Dean nods, falling into step behind Castiel and letting him take the lead. He watches carefully to make sure Castiel’s leg doesn’t seem to be bothering him, and so far so good. He also watches Castiel’s muscles as they flex and move under his thin hiking clothes.

All the quiet leaves Dean with his thoughts, memories of high school keep replaying in his mind. He thinks of all the times he caught glimpses of Castiel standing near the bleachers watching him practice, or sitting on his old Volvo in the parking lot watching the Friday night game through the fence. Maybe Cas did have a crush on him back then…but he wasn’t alone.

“You watched me,” Dean says out of the blue.

Castiel halts, turning to look at Dean, head tilted in confusion. “I watched you?”

“In high school.” Dean goes on, continuing to walk and coming up next to Cas now that the trail has widened. “I used to see you at my practices and games, just watching. I didn’t think you liked football so it was kinda unusual.”

Castiel nods but doesn’t say anything…waiting to see where Dean is taking this, maybe. “I get bored with most art, you know.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Castiel grins at him.

“But I...I never missed any of the school's art shows,” he says, his voice going soft. “I went to every single one.”

He lets that sit for a minute, thinking back to all the excuses he had to give his girl of the week for why he was busy on those nights. Slinking through all the exhibits till he found Castiel standing by his painting or sculpture or photography looking anxious, hair overly gelled.

“I only remember you being at one show?” Castiel says, watching Dean now from the corner of his eye.

“I went to all of them, but I didn’t always say hi. I was always there, though.” Dean shrugs, not sure he really wants Cas to understand what he’s trying to say.

“But why wouldn’t you come say hi to me?” Castiel asks now, sounding a bit hurt.

“You were always with your art friends, talking about all this stuff I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to sound like the dumb jock, you know? I liked what you created but I didn’t know what to say about it, so I just…kept my mouth shut.” Dean realizes he’s chewing on his bottom lip and quickly stops, grinding his teeth.

“You talked to me at that one show in the spring of our senior year. I remember, I had been talking to that British exchange student, the blonde one—”

“Balthazar,” Dean supplies, through now-gritted teeth.

“Yeah, Balthazar. Then you came and hung out with me most of the night. We got milkshakes.” Castiel grins. He always did like a chocolate milkshake.

“Yeah, well...who doesn’t like a milkshake?” Dean shrugs.

Castiel squints at Dean a moment like he’s picking his words carefully. “So you came to all of the art shows?” Dean nods. “But you don’t like art?” Dean nods again. There’s a long weighted pause. “I see,” is all Castiel says, and they both go quiet as they continue hiking up the trail.

Dean has no idea if Castiel gets what he was trying to say. He tries not to think of that punk exchange student Balthazar hanging all over Cas. If Dean _accidentally_ stepped on his toe with his boots, it had nothing to do with Balthazar eye-fucking Cas before that.

They make it to the main campground area, but Castiel wants to pitch tents closer to the falls, claiming he wants a picture of the early morning light over the water. Dean concedes and follows Castiel as he leads him deeper into the woods, down a barely used trail till they come to a clearing.

“Fuck, that hike is no joke,” Dean huffs, putting his hands on his knees and catching his breath. He looks up to see Castiel standing near a cliff’s edge, backpack by his feet and camera raised. Dean stands drooping his own bag and watches Castiel for a second—his hair shines in the diminishing light of the afternoon. He looks even more gorgeous now than when they were young, and that's saying something.

“I’ll gather firewood,” he calls, and Castiel just nods, seemingly mesmerized by the vast expanse of forest before them.

Dean makes quick work of gathering wood and clearing a good spot to put the tents. He’s just finished putting some rocks around his fire pit when he hears the click of a camera shutter. He looks up to see Castiel lowering his camera and smiling at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, just testing out the light,” Castiel tells him as he comes closer. “This looks great, Dean. I grabbed some water from a stream over there, we can put it through my water sanitizer.”

“Want to pitch our tents?” Dean asks, taking his tent out of it’s bag.

“Good idea. Then I’m ready for some real food.”

Dean can’t argue with that. They assemble their tents, though Castiel puts up a tarp over his, which didn’t occur to Dean. He’s fairly certain it’s not gonna rain and the tent is waterproof. By the time they finish, the sun is almost set and they get to work starting the fire.

“I got one of those flint starters,” Castiel tells him, and sets about trying to get a spark to catch. Dean lets this go on for about twenty minutes before he pulls out his lighter and gets the kindling to light. “I almost had it,” Castiel grumbles, and Dean wisely chooses not to reply.

Dinner consists of PB&Js and s'mores for dessert. There’s one fallen tree by the fire that makes a good seat, though it does put them practically shoulder to shoulder. Dean keeps burning his marshmallows but Castiel says he likes them burnt and continues to trade with him.

“Alright, now every good camping trip calls for some whiskey.” Dean pulls out the small Tin Cup whiskey from his pack, a favorite among hikers, and pours them a few fingers worth into each of their metal camping mugs.

Castiel raises his mug. “To old friends?”

Dean clinks his cup to Castiel’s. “Cheers!” _To second chances_ , he thinks to himself.

They sit by the fire for a few more hours, talking and sipping on their whiskey. They reminisce about highschool and tell stories of college. Somehow they drift closer and closer as the night goes on, and Dean can’t help but watch every smile and laugh that graces Castiel's face in the fire light. He is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“Guess we should probably turn in,” Castiel says finally, eyes skimming over Dean’s face. Dean wonders what he’s looking for.

“I guess so,” Dean answers, close enough to smell the whiskey on Castiel’s breath, though maybe that’s just his own.

“Cas?”

“Yeah?” Castiel leans in, and Dean can’t take his eyes of those fucking lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them.

Now is his moment—his chance to close the distance and taste those sinful looking lips. He’s waited fucking years for this, and all he has to do is lean in just a little more. His heart is hammering in his chest, fingers brush against Castiel’s on the rough bark of the tree. He should do it now, raise his hand and cup his cheek. Sink a hand into that dark hair and tilt his face up to meet his own…

Suddenly, something cold hits his nose. He shakes his head, looking up and feels the rain drops as they begin to fall across his face.

“We should get under cover.” Castiel’s voice gets his attention and he looks to see him moving to stand, hair already flattening with the water. _Fucking rain_ , Dean curses to himself.

“Goodnight Dean.” Castiel gives him a quick, awkward smile before darting to his tent.

“Night, Cas,” he calls back, before moving to get in his own tent, the rain picking up quickly. He kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his pants and flannel, climbing into the sleeping bag with just his t-shirt and boxer briefs. He can’t believe he didn’t kiss Cas when he had the chance. Granted, Castiel could have recoiled from him, given him a let’s-just-be-friends speech. Maybe he saved himself that humiliation.

He shuffles around in old sleeping for a few minutes before he finally gets comfortable enough to drift off. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep when he hears a snapping sound. He blinks his eyes open, reaching for his flashlight and points it around the tent. There’s a large dip in the center of his tent with a broken support rod, and he only has a second to think, _oh fuck,_ before the fabric gives way and a bucket worth of water drops on top of him.

He curses, scrambling to get out from under the deluge, kicking away the now soaked sleeping bag. The water is freezing and he’s frantically reaching for the tent, to try to pull the busted seam back together. It only takes him a second to realize there’s nothing he can do. His backpack is still mostly dry, but he gets more drenched by the second standing under the raining night sky. He grabs his pack and boots and ducks out of his tent, making his way toward Castiel’s. He sees the tarp is doing its job of redirecting the water and thinks he’s gonna get an _I told you so_. Teeth chattering, he calls out to Cas and hopes he has room for one more.

***

Castiel dreams fitfully, never quite asleep and never quite awake. Most of his dreams are more like memories: _they’re seventeen again, Dean has just won the football team the championship. But instead of pulling the head cheerleader into a victory kiss, Dean pulls Cas in instead, their lips melting against each other, the taste of Dean’s tongue sweet in his mouth—_

Distantly, Castiel hears twigs snapping, the patter of rain against the tarp, and then, the sound of the zipper being raised on his tent. Fear grips him for a moment, and he scrambles around for his camping lantern around the same time he hears Dean mutter, “Son of a bitch.”

Relief floods him—the intruder is just his friend, not, you know, an _actual_ intruder—but the relief is short-lived. As soon as a flicker of light fills the space, Castiel can see there’s panic on Dean’s face. His t-shirt and boxers are drenched with water, and he’s shivering slightly in the nighttime air. 

“Got room in the inn?” he jokes, and Castiel rubs his eyes, trying to contain his surprise. 

“Are you comparing yourself to Jesus?” 

Dean snorts, and Castiel takes over opening up the tent, watching through the yellow light of his lantern as Dean takes up residency in his one-person tent. 

“If I had god powers, y’think I’d let my tent get flooded?” he gripes, crossing his arms against his chest. Castiel finishes enclosing them in, then sighs, reaching for the lantern again and setting it closer to Dean. His clothes are truly drenched, the cotton soaked through in a way that makes Dean’s nipples appear perky and tempting through his shirt. Castiel swallows a dry lump in his throat and attempts to look away. 

“I believe someone put a tarp on the recommended camping equipment list,” Castiel deadpans, keeping his vision fixated on Dean’s face, lest his eyes wander to more tempting places. 

“Yeah, yeah, Cas. You were right. As always,” Dean grumbles sarcastically, arms wrapped around himself and shivering steadily. 

“We need to get you out of those clothes,” Castiel says, fighting to maintain an even voice, and Dean’s eyes widen. 

“Nope, I’m good,” he says unconvincingly.

Castiel glares at him skeptically. “Dean, I realize the temperatures outside aren’t freezing, but sleeping in wet clothes will give you a cold at the _very_ least—”

Dean sighs dramatically, mutters incoherently, and begins to strip his shirt, struggling with the collar until it’s lifted up and off his head, and the shirt is tossed away in a wet heap. Castiel’s early suspicions had been right—Dean’s nipples are pert and pink and he swipes a tongue against his lips, fighting the urge to straddle his friend. He suspected that Dean had wanted to kiss him earlier, around the campfire, but the rain had been an interruption. Perhaps now, given the circumstances, the rain is giving them a second chance.

Dean lays down and fidgets with his soaking wet boxers, struggling audibly until Castiel can’t stand it anymore. He moves closer and nudges Dean’s hands away, gripping the elastic band. 

“Lift,” he commands, and Dean miraculously follows without argument, letting Castiel forcefully strip down his wet, clinging underwear. Castiel tries not to look, tries not to invade Dean’s privacy, but there’s too much tight, golden freckled skin available to him. Dean’s hipbones are sinful, his chest rising and falling, and Castiel is trying not to debate with himself if his best friend is a show-er or a grow-er. He catches Dean’s eye and looks away in panic, wondering if his arousal is painted all over his face. Coughing nervously, he reaches for a bottle of water to down. 

“So, uh, am I sleeping commando…or do you have some clothes you can spot me?” Dean whispers, drawing his knees up self-consciously. “I packed pretty light.” 

“Oh, of…of course,” Castiel replies, grabbing the lantern and setting it next to his backpack. On the top, he finds his folded towel first, and grabs it before he can second-guess himself. “But can I dry you off first?”

Dean doesn’t speak, just swallows and nods in the dark as Castiel comes closer. He moves the towel reverently, gently, starting with Dean’s ankles and working his way up to Dean’s chest. He moves more quickly around Dean’s groin, trying not to linger, but he notices the hitch in Dean’s breath the closer he comes to his cock. Castiel can hardly breathe, his heart is pounding so fast, and his next words come out in a sultry whisper.

“We can dress you, if you want, but…the quickest way to warm you up would be for me to…to undress, too, and then…for both of us to get in the sleeping bag.” Castiel swallows. “Together.”

Dean inhales a low gasp, and Castiel wonders if he’s been too forward, if he’s ruined things by moving too fast. But then Dean lets out a shaky breath and says, “That’s, um, science? Right?”

“Right,” Castiel agrees cautiously. He finishes drying Dean with a last, careful swipe across his forehead, then runs the towel over his hair and massages his scalp. Dean hums in appreciation, head lolling to the side, and Castiel wants very badly to make this man feel good in every possible way.

“Get in the sleeping bag,” Castiel instructs. “I’ll be right there.”

He wishes suddenly for a little more liquid courage, but thinks his nerves might be a bit too obvious if he suggests they have a two a.m. pint of whiskey. _Besides, there’s the possibility that you’ll just go to sleep,_ he tells himself firmly. _So you’re going to cuddle in the nude with the man you’ve been in love with for a decade? That doesn’t mean anything is going to happen…_

He chuckles to himself anxiously, but when Dean raises his eyebrows, he masks it with a cough. Dean is sliding into the sleeping bag, leaving a sizable half for Cas, and Castiel thinks his heart is likely to implode. What if Dean hasn’t been picking up on the signs? What if he thinks they’re about to platonically spoon for survival, and Castiel has just been delusional this entire time? 

“Stage fright?” Dean jokes, and Castiel spins around in panic. 

“No, just…thinking,” he says quietly, then takes a deep breath and takes off his shirt. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Dean asks conversationally, as if he expects Castiel to lie to him. 

Castiel, unable to see the point in that, says, “You.”

Dean lets out a little huff of laughter. “Good things, I hope?”

“Very good things.” Castiel let’s his eyes linger on Dean’s body, and though all he can see apart from the sleeping bag is Dean’s bare chest, it’s the most intimate look he’s allowed himself yet. When his eyes float up to Dean’s face, he sees sharp green eyes staring back at him and Dean’s mouth hanging open.

“Get over here,” Dean says in a hoarse whisper. “Right the hell now, Cas.”

They don’t kiss each other as much as collide, Castiel still in his boxers but not caring as he launches himself into the sleeping bag. He feels Dean’s hands on him, pulling him close, as he tucks a hand under Dean’s neck and grips him tight. When their lips brush, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the tent, the grounds, the whole state of California. Dean’s lips are cold and wet with rainwater and Castiel intends to warm them up properly, flicking his tongue against the seam of Dean’s lips and moaning when he’s given entrance. 

“Fuck,” Dean says breathlessly a moment later, tilting his head as Castiel kisses along the column of his throat. Castiel feels like his heart might burst, as if he’s a man possessed, and he sucks on a pulse point in Dean’s collarbone and reaches a hand to wrap around Dean’s cock. They both moan at the first stroke, Dean’s dick hardening firmly under his grip. “Jesus, _fuck_ , Cas, is this really happening?”

Castiel answers with another kiss, hard and wet and all-consuming, and Dean’s hand weaves into the back of Castiel’s hair and grips it tightly. Castiel still has a hand on Dean’s dick but doesn’t have the space now to jack him off, but there seems to be no rush as Dean slides on top, deepening the kiss. Castiel can feel his own erection growing, pushing against his boxers, and Dean moves his lips away, breathing fast. 

“Can I?” Dean asks, his hands on the waistband of Castiel’s boxer briefs. 

“Please.” Castiel nods eagerly, watching in near amazement as Dean finishes taking off his clothes. And then they’re skin to skin completely, the only sounds are the rain beating against the tent and the sinful little moans escaping Dean’s lips as they rut against each other. Castiel wonders if he’s going to survive this encounter when Dean wraps a hand around both their cocks, and he bites Dean’s bottom lip roughly, overcome with sensation. 

“Oh god, Dean,” he cries roughly, feeling all the blood in his body drifting downward and diving back in for another sloppy, desperate kiss. “This is better than I ever imagined. You’re amazing.”

“You feel so good, Cas,” Dean moans, his hand speeding up rapidly. “Fuck, there’s so much…so many things I wanna do with you…”

“Like what?” Castiel asks, finding that he’s obsessed with hearing Dean’s voice laden with arousal. 

“I want to suck you off. I want to watch you come. I want to feel you fuck me, Cas, so _fucking_ hard—”

“Dean,” Castiel says in a low rumble. “Dean, if we don’t slow down, I’m going to—”

“Want you to come,” Dean mutters in Castiel’s ear, biting on his earlobe. “I’ve wanted you for so long, baby, let me see you lose control…”

Castiel’s breathing heightens, Dean’s grip on his dick so skilled that it makes his back arch off the ground, and then he feels a tightening in his balls and a sudden release. Dean’s hand expertedly milks his cock with every twist of his wrist, and Castiel is just flying, feels so overwhelmed he can barely speak.

“Beautiful,” Dean mutters, kissing him mercilessly through the orgasm. When he does blink back to consciousness, Castiel rolls to the side and falls backwards onto his knees, taking in the sight of Dean with his back against the sleeping bag, stripping his own dick desperately. 

“Let me,” he says, shooing Dean’s hand away. He kisses his collarbones, his chest, then latches onto a nipple, enjoying the feeling of Dean squirming beneath him as he works the nub over. Then he sinks lower, leaving kisses on his belly and his hips, and when he’s finally reached his destination, he looks back up at Dean with a predatory smile. “Please tell me you’re clean, because I’ve been dying to taste you.”

“God, sweetheart, the mouth on you…” Dean exhales shakily and nods. “Yeah, Cas, I’m good.”

“You’re more than that,” Castiel mumbles, licking his tongue deftly around Dean’s cockhead. “You’re exquisite.”

When Castiel opens his mouth—taking in as much of Dean’s cock as he can and letting the dick hit the back of his throat—a sound like a whine erupts from Dean’s mouth. He’s writhing around madly as Castiel sucks and licks, and Cas puts his hands on Dean’s hips to steady them. He bobs his head up and down Dean’s impressive length—turns out, he’s definitely a grow-er—and tastes remnants of his own salty come on Dean’s skin. It’s filthy and he’s drooling a little but he doesn’t care, he’s so close to sucking Dean dry, and he’ll be damned if he let’s this moment pass without giving Dean the orgasm of a lifetime. 

“Cas, baby, I’m about to…fuck, Cas, I’m gonna—”

Castiel reaches his hand around to fondle Dean’s balls lightly, using his other hand to stroke the base of Dean’s dick, and ultimately, that’s what does it. Come marks Castiel’s lips, his cheeks, his hands, and he swipes it away with his tongue as Dean watches, panting beneath him, looking absolutely debauched as his eyes glitter in the near darkness. 

“So the guy I’ve been pining over since high school is the best sex of my life,” Dean announces afterwards, almost to himself. “I really shoulda seen that coming.”

Castiel laughs, but doesn’t have time to react to that admission before Dean is pulling him down again, kissing him within an inch of his life and wrapping him up with the sleeping bag.

*** 

The morning-after plays out like some kind of dream. Part of Castiel had fallen asleep worried that this whole thing would be brushed aside, explained away as a moment of survival turned heated. But when Dean rises from his place on Castiel’s chest and peppers his face with kisses, some of the last remaining anxiety seems to loosen in his chest. This is real, for _both_ of them. And maybe it always has been. 

They use a combination of wipes and Dean’s soaking wet clothes to wash themselves—scrubbing away dried come wasn’t something Castiel had foreseen on this trip, but not even _this_ can make him regret last night—and then they brush their teeth with filtered water and get dressed. Castiel keeps getting distracted by Dean’s lips, and they end up making out with Castiel’s shirt only half-on and Dean’s pants around his ankles. The kisses are fun and flirty, rather than heated and sensual, and they keep honest-to-god giggling every few minutes and muttering, “I can’t believe this finally happened.” Castiel feels like his heart is glowing so brightly, he’s surprised Dean isn’t blinded by it. 

And then they’re finally, completely dressed and breaking down camp, deciding what to do with Dean’s drenched tent and sleeping bag. They have a quick breakfast of protein bars—much to Dean’s dismay—and then they’re hiking again for the day, heading towards the falls. They walk close together, shoulders brushing, and occasionally thread their hands together as if they’ve been doing this for years. Every touch between them feels electric now, a confirmation of what’s been brewing between them for so long. They trade stories along the way, reminiscing on the old days.

“Remember the time we picked up Sammy from a Halloween party? Our junior year?” Dean says, and Castiel thinks back for a moment, then nods.

“He seemed upset, but never told us why,” Castiel supplies, and Dean nods with a large grin.

“Well, he finally fessed up. Turns out the kid tossed his cookies while bobbing for apples.” Dean throws his head back and laughs. “Puked _everywhere_ , including on this chick who he had a big nerdy crush on.” 

“Poor Sam,” Castiel says sympathetically, thinking back to the twelve-year-old boy he knew back then, and watching incredulously as Dean just snorts and laughs harder. “No wonder he didn’t tell you, Dean.”

“Hey, it’s my right as big brother to bust his chops,” Dean answers. “Besides, him having a meltdown that night gave me an excuse to leave the party early and weasel you away from that douchebag who was drooling all over you.” 

Castiel laughs, the memories hazy but the feelings all the same. “First Balthazar, now Inias?” Dean blushes a pretty shade of pink, and Castiel kisses his cheek. “Were you jealous of every gay guy we knew in high school?”

“No, not _all_ of them…Cesar was cool,” Dean mutters. 

“Cesar was also dating Jesse,” Castiel points out, grinning now and bumping Dean’s shoulder. “Dean Winchester, you had a cheerleader in your lap every day at lunch, and you were jealous of the few guys who looked _my_ way?”

“It was more than a few, Cas,” Dean says vaguely. 

“What do you mean?” Castiel asks curiously, and Dean turns his head and chuckles. 

“You were fucking hot, man. Even the closeted guys on the football team knew it!” 

Castiel blinks in surprise, then shakes his head, laughing. “Even you?”

Dean sputters and blushes, and just when Castiel is about to have mercy on him and change the subject, Dean stops suddenly and grabs Cas by the elbow. Face to face now, Dean tucks a hand under his chin and says, “Especially me.”

Castiel closes the distance between them, kissing Dean long and slow and sweet. When he pulls away, their foreheads are touching, and he whispers, “It was no fun for me, either. Watching you with other girls…thinking I could never have you.” 

Dean nods, his hands slipping into the back pockets of Castiel’s jeans. “You had me, Cas. God help me, you had me.”

Castiel smiles lightly, his thumb finding the bottom of Dean’s lip. He takes a deep breath, finally asking the question that’s been on his mind since they first kissed. “Do I have you now?” 

An array of emotions cross Dean’s face—hope, surprise, excitement—and it takes him a moment to answer. 

“Pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen,” he whispers, and Castiel feels like all the air has left his body. “So yeah, you have me. If you want me.”

Castiel kisses him then. It’s an instinct, an impulse that he can’t dismiss. He pours every ounce of emotion into it, gripping Dean tightly and backing him up against a tree, kissing him like he’s dying and Dean’s mouth has the cure. 

When they finally separate, Dean’s eyelids hooded and dark, Castiel says in his ear, “I’m going to take pictures of the falls, because my final grade depends on it. And then we’re leaving a day early, and I’m going to fuck my new boyfriend into the first available mattress we can find.” He kisses Dean’s neck, his chin, before finally kissing the corner of his mouth. “How does that sound?”

“Sounds…” Dean turns his head, looking flustered. “Sounds like we need to get a fucking move on, doesn’t it?”

Castiel grins, a rush of excitement burning in his body, his cock already hardening at just the thought of being with Dean. But he wills it down and takes Dean’s hands, kissing his knuckles as they walk hand-in-hand towards the falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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